Chiara – Revenge and Triumph by Gian Bordin Read Free Book Online Page B

the road joined the banks of a wide river which she guessed to be the Arno, with the Porta a Mare, the western city gate, coming into view. She slowed her pace, suddenly apprehensive. Would she get past the armed guards? All carts were stopped for inspection and assessment of customs. But they also seemed to scrutinize the people entering, occasionally stopping one or the other.
    She took a few deep breaths and approached the gate. As she wanted to pass by the guard, he shouted: "Boy, where the hell do you think you’re going?"
    She knew her anxiety showed and stuttered: "I, I, I am going home."
    "And where‘s that?"
    And now the easy quick wit of which she had always been so proud failed her. She did not know the name of a single street or quarter or church, nor could she think of one of the common names found in most cities, but then she was a simple lass from Elba, not a sophisticated city girl. Her only answer was to blush deeply and look to the ground.
    "You’re a vagrant or runaway. Get thee gone. The illustrious city of Pisa isn’t for the likes of you. Go back to where you came from."
    When she was slow to react, he shoved her with his pike. " Via , via !"
    She turned from the gate, stifling her tears. What was she going to do now? She needed to get inside the city. There surely was a convent where the sisters would have pity on her and offer her food and shelter for a few days. They might even help her find a place to work for a living. She had to try again, but at another gate. Maybe she could discover the name of one of the churches just visible above the city walls and say her family lived nearby. A child or peasant on the outside might tell her.
    Once past the bridge over the ditch that served as a moat outside the city walls, she took the road south that ran alongside it. She encountered few people, and the two children she questioned only looked at her puzzled and then ran away. At the other end of the walls she saw a forbidding fortress nestled into a wide bend of the Arno. To its left was another gate. Here the traffic was less busy than at the western gate, but as long as she did not know the name of a church, there was little point trying her luck a second time. She sat in the shade of a tree, waiting for something, something that might help her get in — a friendly looking person who might know the name of at least one church, or a large group of travelers she might join, pretending to be one of them.
    It was getting late when she saw a party of colorfully dressed people coming toward her along the river road. The man in front was leading a donkey hitched to a cart piled high with all sorts of strange gadgets and utensils. An old woman sat on a board at its back. Behind followed two smaller carts. The first one, loaded with a fair-size, polished wooden box, was pulled along by two young men with a young woman at their side, the second by a middle-aged couple.
     
     
     
     
     
    5
    Pisa, early June 1347
     
    There I was — I who only a few days earlier had been the pampered lady of the castle — called a vagrant and roughly shoved away from the western gate of Pisa, with no food, no money, nothing but the tattered garments I was wearing, getting ever more despondent. Was I going to spend another night in the open? I had heard of girls who only survived by selling their body. I shuddered at the thought that this might be my lot too. So, Cara Selva, when I saw a troupe of traveling players come down the road toward the city, they seemed God-sent. I did not even think twice to join them. My own clothing that had raised eyebrows before seemed to blend in perfectly with theirs. So I followed close behind and when they turned into the street leading to the eastern gate, I helped push the last cart up the slight incline — quite a strenuous job on the uneven cobble stones. While the man leading the donkey negotiated the entrance formalities with one of the guards, I lingered hidden behind the last cart.